


Natalie Dormer is a work of art

by aphrodisiatic_cat



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: AU, Artist AU, F/F, Fluff, No Sex, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 02:34:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9798704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphrodisiatic_cat/pseuds/aphrodisiatic_cat
Summary: Young artist bumps into the intimidating Jamie Moriarty on the street, and succeeds at luring her into her studio.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just fucking around with Moriarty's awesome character with a shameless self-insert, might work up the courage to write the sex scene one day but don't hold your breath!

Kat strolled down a bustling New York street. Her artists’ eyes were fully active, cataloging stunning architecture, potential camera angles, and the beautiful clothes and people walking past. Everything had the potential for a painting, a sculpture, a piece of art. She often took strolls like this for this purpose alone; to submerge herself in urban life so that later in her studio she could recall a scene or a face that she’d seen that day, and draw inspiration from it. She loved the beauty of New York, and was always trying to represent its bustling energy on canvas.  
She was distracted by a particularly striking building on a corner when she walked straight into someone, causing their coffee to spill.   
“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” cried Kat, crouching to collect the lady’s handbag and returning it abashedly. Then she looked her directly in her face, and froze.  
She was stunningly beautiful. She was the picture of sophistication, in an arousingly tight skirt and blazer, with her hair delicately pulled back into a complicated bun. Her face was angular, but her cheeks were round and came together at a delicately pointed chin. Her eyes were a stunning, piercing blue, and they didn’t miss a thing. They were icy and controlled, as was everything about her. It was all very deliberate; every article of clothing was carefully calculated, every hair in its proper place and every brush of makeup flawlessly portraying a very powerful woman. Everything about this woman was controlled to send a message, right down to her expression and mannerisms. It was was like watching an actor on stage, dressed in their costume and performing a part. It was fascinating to watch.   
“You’re beautiful,” Kat stated.  
She had the absolute pleasure of seeing the woman caught off guard; she didn’t think that happened very often.  
“Why, thank you.”  
“Actually, properly, stunning,” Kat continued, studying her face critically, evaluating every angle. “Would you model for me?”  
Only a moment’s pause, then; “I’m sorry, what?”  
“I’m an artist,” Kat elaborated. “I especially love studying and portraying the human form, in all mediums. Would you open to popping by my studio some time for a few hours and letting me study you?” She wasn’t usually this forward with potential models, but this woman was different.  
“I’m really very busy,” she said coolly.  
Kat was unperturbed by the brush-off, and pulled out a paint-stained business card. “I get it. Why find time to sit immobile for two hours when you should be off buttering up CEOs and corporate giants?”   
The woman only smiled; Kat assumed she was assenting, and stepped closer.  
“Well, you’re obviously conscious of your looks. Let’s just say that modelling for an artist—especially one that things you’re gorgeous—is the ultimate ego pampering. It especially pampers your vanity, but…why is that such a bad thing?”  
The lady smirked, a smirk that could charm roses off their bushes. Oh, I need that on camera, at the least, thought Kat. Perhaps a good oil painting…  
“I’ve always been rather a fan of things that others call ‘bad’,” she said silkily.  
Kat stepped closer still and slid her card into the woman’s breast pocket. Looking into those calculating eyes, she murmured, “It would be a crime for your face to go undocumented by art.”  
She gazed back, piercing right through Kat and studying her like an insect under a microscope. “You’re convincing,” she said in a sultry undertone. “But no promises.”  
And with that, she was gone, marching briskly past Kat on click-clacking pumps. Kat could only hope that she wouldn’t dump her card in the first trash bin she found.

It was three weeks until Kat heard from her. She’d tried very unsuccessfully to recreate her beautiful face from memory. Her art friends had marvelled over the rough sketches, but Kat wasn’t satisfied. The lady in her sketches was gorgeous, sure, but she didn't exude that aura that Kat had felt. That sense of absolute control and perception. She knew she’d never be able to recreate it without seeing her in person again.   
She’d almost lost hope, abandoning her sketches and lamenting that she would never recreate the art in her head. But one day, her phone rang in the middle of a painting session. She usually made sure it was on the other side of the studio when she was working, so that she wouldn’t be distracted. But she’d forgotten today, and the ‘blocked caller’ flashing on her screen piqued her interest enough to make her put down the paintbrush.  
“Kat here.”  
“Hello Kat. I’m wondering if you’re free for a modelling session?”  
“Uh…sure. Do I know you?”  
“You bumped into me on the street, perhaps three weeks ago? Gave me your card and requested…well, demanded, that I model for you.”  
“Oh my god, it’s you. I’d given up hoping.”  
The chuckle was everything Kat would have expected; throaty, and incredibly erotic. “I’m flattered.”  
“I would love you to model for me. When are you free?”  
“Actually, I have a few hours free about now.”  
“I uh…well I don’t have anything planned. So I don’t see why not.”  
“Lovely. Your address is on the card.”  
Click. And she was gone.

Kat freaked out. And then told herself she was being ridiculous, and calmed down a little. Then freaked out again. She needed to tidy the studio, cover the mattress that she (illegally) slept on, change clothes, put out snacks…  
All at once, she halted that train of thought. She was not going to fret and worry about this visit. This woman was devastatingly perceptive. She would know that Kat had tidied, she would spot the mattress despite any attempts to hide it, and she would know how flustered Kat had been prior to her visit. Kat would not let her have much power over her.  
She calmly laid out the studio ready for a modelling session, deliberately not tidying any more than necessary. She decided that she would start with photography, then spend some time on sketches. Perhaps she could persuade her to return so that she could compose a large oil painting for her; something that would take several visits. But for now, she just needed photographs. She could make anything from photographs.   
She finished composing the studio, ready for its visitor. She decided to remain in her overlarge, paint-splattered men’s button-down that she wore as an apron while working, although she had been wearing it unbuttoned and with nothing underneath. She swiftly changed into a bra and singlet, replacing the shirt over the top. She deliberately didn’t touch her rat’s nest of a hairstyle, and resisted the temptation to add some dabs of paint through it. She was certain her model would tell it was deliberate, and would be secretly amused that Kat had gone to the trouble.  
There was still no buzz indicating her guest’s arrival, so she returned to her painting while she waited. It was a small oil painting of a nude couple, one woman’s back arched in pleasure underneath her lover’s mouth. It was done roughly, in bright and fiery colours. Kat was just beginning the final, refining layer when her phone dinged.  
It’s me. Buzz me up.  
Kat swallowed her grin, and let in her guest.  
Half a minute later, she strode into her studio. Today her hair was out, in loose blonde waves. She still looked sharp and poised in a trench coat, slacks and pumps, but it was a little more casual than her suit. She paused a few steps in and scrutinised every inch of the studio. Her mouth pouting slightly and her eyes narrowed, she finally alighted on Kat.  
“What a charming studio,” she said, wearing that delightful smile. It was a smile that said, I could kill you right now and walk over your corpse on the way to retouch my lipstick. And you’d probably thank me for paying attention to you. Yes, Kat definitely needed to capture that smirk in her art somehow.  
“Thank you,” Kat smiled, rising to shake her hand. It was smooth and soft, undoubtedly due to regular manicures.  
“I wasn’t aware they allowed artists to sleep in their studios. Isn’t there one of those law things against it?” she inquired drily, with a meaningful glance at the mattress.  
“Oh, that’s my latest project, Your Honour,” Kat replied teasingly. With a chuckle, she added, “the effect of the modern economy of an artist’s sleeping habits.”  
She laughed in response. “Yes, I must confess this whole studio reeks of the ‘starving artist’ cliche.”  
“Try living it,” Kat said drily.  
The woman smirked, then walked past her and began inspecting her painting. “This is remarkable,” she said, leaning in close to evaluate the brushwork. “Leonid Afremov inspiration?”  
Kat was taken aback at her knowledge of art. “It is. I’m surprised you recognise it, he’s not as popular in your circles. Bit lowbrow”  
“My circles,” the woman chuckled under her breath. She leaned back. “I know him because I’ve copied his work as well, many years ago.”  
Kat reexamined her, trying to understand how an artist fit into the corporate monster that stood before her. The woman interrupted her musings.  
“Two women, is that a political message?”  
“It would be a pretty weak one,” Kat remarked. “In the art world, if you’re straight you’re outnumbered. Homosexuality isn’t anything new.”  
She straightened up and turned to Kat, unnervingly close. She was almost exactly Kat’s height, perhaps a few centimetres taller.  
“And for you personally?” she murmured.  
Kat returned her piercing gaze. “Gender doesn’t bother me,” she replied openly. “Both the male and female forms are beautiful and erotic in different ways. Both are…attractive.” They were standing incredibly close, faces mere inches away. Kat studied her face, mentally correcting her failed sketches. She’d tried to make her cheeks too rounded, she’d forgotten how defined and striking her cheekbones are. And she hadn’t got the shape of the eyebrow right, that curve just there…Kat became suddenly aware of her intoxicating smell, a subtle perfume that was as sharp and elegant as she was.  
Her guest broke the moment. “Yes, I quite agree. Gender is totally irrelevant to how I see a person.” If possible, she moved even closer, so close to touching but not quite. It Kat twitched, she would have brushed against her, and she held quite still so as not to break the spell.  
“Would you like to know how I see you?” The woman cocked her head slightly, almost daring Kat to say yes. “I might be quite blunt.”  
Kat wanted to see just how observant this woman was. And she could never resist a dare.  
“Fire away.”  
She deliberated for a moment, then began in a sultry murmur. “I see someone determined to uncover the truth in the world. Your blunt manner indicates a preference towards honesty, and the fact that you didn’t tidy the studio or even cover that mattress demonstrates that you don’t like hiding and deception. Your choice of clothes was deliberately slovenly; you decided not to dress up a little to impress a wealthy guest. Most artists would make the effort, considering that a rich model could easily become a rich client. I’m assuming you chose not to change because you don’t want to look like you’re sucking up to me; you hate being subservient. Indicates a bull-headed need for independence. From the clothes I can see scattered around this studio, I deduce that your fashion sense strives to live up to the artist stereotype. You often use a film camera, judging by your photographic work on the walls; a pretty one at that, I recognise the model. So you like walking around with a gorgeous, vintage-looking camera strapped around your neck. You, my friend, you are impressively pretentious. You have dedicated your life to the ‘starving artist’ cliche, and your income is microscopic as a result. I must congratulate your dedication.” She stopped for breath. “Shall I go on?”  
Kat already knew all that. She was good at self-assessment, and determining why she did what she did. So to hear that she was pretentious, overtly honest, and mildly delusional was no big deal. To hear it from the mouth of a near stranger was a little unnerving.  
“You’re right, I didn’t want to suck up to you,” Kat said finally.  
The woman slowly smiled. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say? People usually swear at me when I do that.”  
“No, I asked for it. You just told me what you saw. Now can I return the favour?”  
Her answering smirk was less flirty and more derisive. “Fire away.”  
“I’ll be brief. I see someone who lies, every single day. Everything about you is fake, contrived, deliberate. And false. You manipulate how people see you down to the tiniest detail. And I want to tell you now, that in this studio you don’t have to lie. You don’t have to be fake, you can be whoever you are. In whatever grand schemes you have going on in your life, you have to lie constantly. But I don’t matter, so you don’t have to lie to me.”  
“I never have.”  
“I’m sure you would’ve.”  
Her silence was the only answer Kat needed. “If you don’t want or need to be real with someone, then that’s fine. All I want is to make you into artwork. But I will offer you the chance to put down your masks.”  
She considered Kat for a long time. Some of the coolness, the control, slipped from her face, although her eyes were just as piercing. A small, genuine smile tugged at the corners of her lips. After an immeasurable moment, her hand cupped Kat’s cheek.  
“Thank you,” she murmured. Then she kissed her.  
It was a gorgeous kiss, with the polished perfection of a movie scene. Her lips were soft and cool, and Kat wound her fingers into her silky hair. Her smell was intoxicating, heightening the surreal feeling of the moment. Of course, she was incredibly skilled, and her tongue did something that made Kat’s knees weak.  
Kat eventually broke the kiss. She’d never forgive herself if she managed to get this stunning woman into her studio and then snogged her the whole time.  
“Shall we get down to it, then?” She gestured to the modelling space she’d set up. It was simply a white sheet arranged to maximise the sun’s light streaming in through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows. As her model stepped into the space, Kat selected one of her several cameras. She began with a digital one, to capture some high quality photos to use to draw off. She could move to her vintage camera later, for some aesthetic shots.  
“Clothes on or off?” her guest asked, with a sultry smirk.  
“On…for now,” Kat said with a small smile. “Possibly a few less layers later on…if, of course, you’re comfortable to?”  
“Comfortable? Oh, I’d relish it,” she said with a frankly carnal purr.  
Kat ignored her rising arousal as she began documenting her model’s every feature. She caught every angle of her face, and some full body shots in her trench coat that managed to capture some of her imperious air. She relaxed a little, now that she had documentation of her guest. She could make some of her art now.  
“Ok, uh…you can take off the coat.”  
Kat switched to the vintage camera, and got some sneaky shots as she was shedding her trench coat. She thought she got one of her face, totally unguarded for a second, caught in the moment of undress. Unfortunately she was on a film camera, so she wouldn’t know until the photos were processed.   
These shots were focussing on making a beautiful photo, less technical than her opening photos. She’d captured her model’s fierceness, now she wanted something more vulnerable. Her model complied, getting softer and less guarded with every shutter click. Eventually she was as pliable as putty, and Kat felt the moment was right.  
“Alright, you can take off the rest of your clothes.”  
She met her model’s eyes, which smouldered as she smirked. “So brusque,” she remarked, as she reached for the buttons of her blouse.  
“Pretty please?” Kat teased lightly, although she was awfully distracted by the new shapes and forms unveiling themselves. She was wearing simple black lingerie, not frilly but definitely not just functional. Her breasts were full and round, hanging heavy. Her flat stomach was tickled by the ends of her blonde hair as she unbuttoned her slacks. They were quickly shed and kicked aside. He underwear matched her bra, in unadorned but well-cut black. She met Kat’s eyes with hunger, feeding on the desire and reverence she saw there, and pulled her hair over one shoulder. Her collarbones were highlighted perfectly by the sun’s natural light, and made her crystal blue eyes even more piercing. Kat instinctively took some shots, guided only by her artists’ need to capture beauty. She continued taking photos as the model gradually undressed, removing her final shreds of clothing with the smoothness and grace of a performer.  
She posed this way and that, sometimes responding to instruction and something simply moving as she saw fit. Kat forced her into some uncomfortable poses, then finally would allow her to relax. She snapped in a frenzy as she stretched out the kinks of being frozen for so long, capturing the open, exposed moment of relief and freedom.   
Kat was doing an extreme closeup of her face, asking her to look into the camera with passion. The camera was jammed between them, their faces close. Then her model’s gaze shifted, infinitesimally, and she looked deep into Kat’s eyes. Kat was frozen by the intimacy and strength of the moment, and the lust in her eyes. She discarded the camera and kissed her deeply.


End file.
